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playinggodsttrpg · 5 months ago

Text

Selected quotes, passages of Bward the Exile, before his return and the wandering army

Conversation excerpt during a cold winter watch

He wraps it around them and huddles with him as well, something he's done a thousand times with a thousand others. It's strange to realize he probably felt the same way about many of them as he does Hox now. He takes time to think about the things called to mind, things never seen before. And yet…

"Within cold castle walls my education; learned in words, stories, sciences, hist'ry of my nation. Years since then and years of experience did I arrive in this moment, and spend it with past unfurled. So far from home on that boat have we hurled, still I see that we are in the same world. All things obey the same rules and choose new ways in this spiral-dance of life to play, though for us in the spinning-top of life it hardly seems a game. Say you there's things we've never seen, I can't help but think that everything's the same."

He takes a deep breath, looking out into the forest a moment. Why did he say that? He could have just agreed, it would be more useful in getting the would-be-ally to be agreeable with him. Speaking his mind didn't help him at all here, and frankly he can't help but wonder why he let his mind wander like that. What is this place doing to me?

"…Apologies, I suppose you didn't ask for me to get sentimental."

The explorer listened to Bward and thought, leaning closer. New lands really weren’t all that different, that he was right about. Hox was thinking at surface level, but Bward had a point. From his studies around his homeland and what he figured he’d find here, ruins of the past often hold similar stories.

“No, you've a point. The world isn’t new, it’s ancient. New discoveries are hardly new, just finding things already set in stone.”

He sighed, turning to Bward. An idle curiosity of his own, he figured he might as well ask.

“… Do you miss it? Home?” He asked, a bit open ended.

It gets a bit warmer under the cloak when Hox leans closer, but it was just him. Still, the pandora's box begging to open from that innocent question of his. If he could speak of it. If only he could speak of it. He wants to tell Hox, he has an army waiting for his return, he wants to tell him of all his unfinished business, of glory in war, of winning by any means. But, he does not. He instead wraps an arm over Hox's shoulder, and. "I expect you'd rather not hear of court politic and battle. Tell me instead of your home so about the viper's nest I need not prattle."

The Exile performing a play for a group of refugees

He holds to the others on the stage a small pouch covered in a glittery pigment, nothing more than a cheap prop. In the (recently excavated) firelit stage of the new amphitheater his ring-shaped horns have a cloth attached with a target shaped pattern on it, his face covered by more cloth. He and the other wyrmkin on the stage clad in little more than makeshift wooden masks, each one with a facial expression painted on it. He that spoke before has closed eyes, while Bward's shows a smile with narrowed eyes.

"… And lo! Soon seeds that ancestors of th' foe did sow would the fools find themselves be-reft. I call for your aid to keep them ours, to continue this draconic theft."

The newcomers were missing the beginning, the final act drew near. The crowd seemed too invested for the moment at least to worry about their woes.

"Your return could not be sooner, my love. The famine has worsened today. The wells remain dry, the trees stripped of fruit, our granaries lack even hay."

Closed-eyes mask stops for a second, head turning back and forth then whispering quietly. "Line?"

A short hissed word too quiet to hear from the wine-colored wyrm gets him moving again, picking up a stick prop and pantomiming a shovel with it.

"Then we bury them now, and bury them deep, and flee with eggs in hand, for when we return after the year that leaps, this will again be a bountiful land!"

He turns the pouch upside-down where the other is mock-digging, a few cloudy quartz shards falling out onto the ground before he sweeps them with a foot of the stage and to the feet of children in the front row.

"The rape of the soil will not be forgiven, in four winters we shall return, to stake our claim and a homeland earn. The terrible lizards that stole our home, shall learn to what depths that we spurn."

He soon raises both arms, back arching, another actor had leapt out from behind a pile of rubble in the recently excavated amphitheater, this one's mask painted in dyes orange and red, a single eye and a grimace. A stagehand snuffs out the lights other than the torches that flank the stage as he does, the last light behind the acting assassin.

"A foolish fiend, to the end. You delve into depths of draconic deca-dence, and know not what you have done. For the people, for the land, you've done this crime, yet no battle yet have you won! When the hoard is short, the seeds seen stolen, will they think they misplaced it in their foul fort? Think this one missing thing they shall shun? No matter the good that you've attempted for us, when we're all killed that good will be none. So with the seeds must you be buried, with the seeds must you be lost, for if ever the dragons find you, on our tribe will be ultimate cost."

Bward falls forward where he placed before the 'seeds', the other nodding. Bward is, of course, still breathing.

On the ground, he speaks.

"Always it's wrong to break eggs, else you pluck from the soil these seeds. Yet to kill what's hatched's just oft sin it seems, else would you have spared me. Yet now was I one, an egg and a seed, a piece of potent-ial-ity, but because of your fear for the future, you've taken the life of me."

A pause follows before he gets up, the other three wyrmkin all clad in masks as they bow in unison. Bward speaks first, naturally, facial expression impossible to tell through the adornment.

"Thus is the conclusion of this tragic tale. Yet do not lose heart, for next we've a show to put wind in your sails! A comedy soon, a story of friends, intermissed by jokes from a lover like no other, and the promise of life ne'er to end!"

He and two step offstage, the other two getting water while Bward retrieves something, the remaining actor pulling away the mask to reveal white facepaint, a clown show soon to ensue...

Other Quotes

Finally, he turns to the man, the would-be stumbling block. Doing his soldier's salute he gave to the chief, head even lower than it was with the chief, touching like his fists to the ground, "A pity, a waste, an imagination so small." As he finishes the statement, he stands up, looking down at the shorter man, more noticeable than ever is the finery of his roughed up tunic, as well made as his sword was but far more beaten up.

"Come to me with your skills when you wish to stand tall."

With that, he hops off the wall, heading to the meals at the longhouse, hoping to let the other ruminate on his words.

"The hell do you mean? I'm order, business, the head of the machine! Bward of the guard, and we're not so populace as to easily avoid my ire!"

"A riddle's a riddle when rather than list-sten you fiddle, meaning muddled by lack of the linchpin. A house burnt in the eve at a lizardfolk's dinner, thankfully none met demise. The fire controlled, a repair we surmise, but the fix is not one for beginners. It's thankful then that I've built much as I've broke, and know in this how to lead. A crane from above grabs the beam below, and with morn's approach we must not be slow. Have you need for more infor-mation, are you hungry, does your mind have need to feed?"

"A starving beast is the most dangerous kind, for it has no room for hope. The only way off the gallows is to ensure your prey's instead dangling at the end of your rope. Tend the fire, merchant of mud and sticks, we will need it."

Bward is well and distracted from his empty stomach, even if the noise it makes wants to say otherwise. A grin, nights by the fire take him back. They were always so noisy, but the noise went away when… Well, he's not around anymore. Only a fire to tend. A frigid, brackish marsh surrounding it. A deep rumbling sigh rolls out as he approaches memories he shares less often, but Luete at least seems the sort to not tell others. Luete, what a strange wyrmkin, why does he shroud himself so, and in such luxurious fabrics? What secrets might out of his jeweled head spill?

"I was a… Servant, so to speak, to the court of the Emp'ror. Born to it as well, not by herited role, but rather that I simply to it belonged. Some foolish chef or ussse-lesss ass-istant let a my egg ro-oll away in the larder, and there did I hatch, into imperial throng." He speaks with curled lips to show his fangs, pointing at them as he turns towards Lute.

"I'm told the first thing these fangs wronged, were the other… The other would-be omelets. But, wine-purple of scale with ornate horns asprout, that lizardlet Bward was taken in. With little regard for my sin." His voice cracks as he speaks, but his eyes aren't betraying the same emotion as his voice… They seem placid, even. Glazed over. Like he's barely taking in detail. "I suppose there's some irony there. Was barbarism rite of passage for the court, or was it mere luck that I lived while my brothers were served a la mort? Whatever the reason, I was raised to be a court aide, deemed better than lower forms of slavery."

General Bward Eyethief- courtesan, regent, aiming for regicide

A king and his pawns set out for their fight,

Forty strong and quite strong all.

To kill just one, a tyrant in his own right,

And the tyrant isolated for his fall.

The king and his pawns arrived like a squall,

But as victory approached the king was imperiled.

The pawns accepted not sacrifice for quarry killed,

One after another for one king pawns die,

Until safe and alone is the king like they willed,

From forty, thirty-nine.

Patron god: Yasuud

Bward the General, Bward the Terrible, the Eyethief's bloodstained path

From trusted concubine to most trusted advisor and soldier, he would empower other fighters at the front line. Despite lacking any particular resistances or strength, he managed to hold his own quite well.

His good graces came with advanced education, a place by his lord's side, first claim to the finest of table scraps. However, knowing the luxuries the greater creatures enjoyed only made him envious of lords odious, the wyrmkin took it upon himself to plant the seeds of rebellion and discontent for his personal benefit, to fill his endless hunger.

When he first took command, he quickly realized the importance of image. Eyethief was no given name, earned from captured soldiers- with a red-hot iron, half-blinded. Those that would be ransomed would have the other threatened with a similar fate if their comrades took too long paying for safe return. It served the purpose too of marking those that resisted the empire, threats to he and great Fathoftads.

His reputation and the good treatment of his soldiers- particularly his policy of fighting by front liners and seeing them treated best in the force- earned him numerous defections and heavily demoralized enemy forces, as well as severely weakening the potential rebels in lands he overtook. With them at his side and more at his back, he greatly expanded his lord's territories, subdued the few survivors, and as if to rub salt in the wound also defeated a slave rebellion by those very subjugated people.

With successful campaign came adulation, power, influence. His success gave his forked tongue the taste of treason, and with dagger behind back he went to climb into the nest of vipers that he was born to.

Winter, he had sent the most loyal segments of his army across the empire. At the dawn of the winter solstice, they were to kill the officers in the regiment, to stab them to death in their sleep. If they saw the green flare, they were to assume command. If they saw the red flare, they were to flee to the hills until his return. With success, a new campaign of expansion and glory, their names remembered in song forever, and a guarantee of a good retirement.

All the concubines in the dragon's keep had drugged the guards and slit the throats of loyal officers, with the promise of freedom and land pulling them to the side of the concubine-turned-commander.

It was as the yule sun rose that Bward, the great Betrayer, led his small force into the keep. Great friends that had seen with him many a battle, a few magicians, all artists on the battlefield. They were to surround and kill the dragonwyrm Fathoftads, emperor of Fathoftheim, they were to be legends.

...

Of forty, seven survived. Eriftyl, the mage of poisons and the betrayer's lover, was deemed too dangerous to live and made undead before sealing him in stone to think and be trapped forever. Fryiskyr, the youngest son of the dragon, was blinded in the fashion that Bward blinded traitors and kept on a leash as an example to traitors everywhere. Sarystys and Faryffthil, brothers and pikemen, were thrown into the deepest dungeon until the end of their days. Dramf and Goretooth, lovers, murderers, axe wielders, would be put in arcane stasis and dropped in the well. And Bward, Betrayer Bward, Eyethief and vicious commander, Bward who stole Fathoftads' left eye with the saber given to him by the very dragon, fled injured without a tail to put between his legs swearing revenge.

With nothing left but the armor and standard he lost a war in, he fled to an unnamed island with people made refugees by his past. There he spent a self imposed exile healing, planning his return to the mainland, and thinking. One might hope that he spent that time learning from those affected by him as well. Many of them were missing an eye, many worse off than that, all of them cursed the evil Eyethief. Bward for obvious reasons hid his identity, not as difficult thanks to none expecting a wyrmkin below four feet of height to be the vicious general. The only refugee that saw him personally was missing both his eyes, past cruelties made fortune for Bward.

It was a few years later they would discover the chest with his old standard, armor, and saber, the connection between the enigmatic singer and storyteller in their group and the evil General Eyethief made. They would have torn him apart had he not spent the past seasons as one of them, farming and raising their children as part of the village. So, he was expelled, the village believing him to have repented, and he sent back to the mainland earlier than scheduled.

Bward spent that time growing increasingly conflicted. He didn't like that he was beginning to enjoy watching plants grow, that he liked his shack he called home for the time, he hated that feeling of stagnation that came with the joy of watching an egg hatch. Every small kindness from those he made refugees was undeserved, even leaving with his life was. So, to make sure he did better, when he was exiled he made an oath to himself to be worse.

The Wandering Army came from humble origins according to its myth, a traveler waylaid in a wartorn land later revealed to be the lost usurper, the general in which the host of hellfire resides. His lost army reunited under a half-burnt banner which was sworn to never be repaired until Fathoftheim burned in its place. They tore across the countryside, zigzagging through towns then cities reuniting the lost soldiers that turned to banditry and torching anything that they couldn't take with them. Reported at first as a particularly organized band of thieves, that would change as they began to take a hold of the enemy's armories on the way home. By the time the Wandering Army made it to the sick and dying Fathoftads, there was no longer much of an empire to speak of. The path behind them was salted, any grain or citizen they didn't eat burned. Slowly dying because of the lost Eriftyl's efforts, they with no difficulty slew him, all watching while Bward Eyethief took away his other eye by hand before cutting away his hands and wings and leaving him. The borderline religious affair did not slake his thirst though, he heard there were kingdoms further to the west to take, to the south, to the north as well, and he wanted them all. They needed no longer to think of supply lines, their foes were their supplies. They needed no longer think of preserving the locals, because the locals were only a potential threat left alive. Cities began to empty out in anticipation, he all the while recruiting as many as possible to ensure the wandering army remains moving. So long as they maintain momentum, they will survive.

...

Somewhat ironically, his name and his army both would be largely forgotten because of his actions. He torched so many libraries and left so few survivors where he went that in the end most records of him didn't survive. His addiction to war wiped him from texts, creating something archeologists would refer to as the little dark age, a streak, a scar left in the annals of history where no one knows anymore what happened. Signs of struggle, and then, nothing. Life continued as normal. People rebuilt and his armies scattered, starved, flailed in their death throes before everyone finally seemingly forgot it all ever happened.

~~ But how did he get here..?~~

Before the escape- Bward. Philosopher, artist, servant, Property.

Before he gained dreams (not delusions) of grandeur, Bward was a servant. An entertainer. A slave. A concubine. Not yet was he a curse to wish on foes, a dagger behind your back, or a scary story to tell unruly children. Bward was born in the highest court of Fathofstheim from the kitchen, his egg spared from becoming an omelet when it rolled to the back of the pantry, with the other eggs that could become a king's bastard if not cracked open early. When he was found, he was an infant eating the nearby eggs in the pantry in his hunger, left alone in the dark room until hunger drove him to take sustenance in his hands at the young age.

His purple scales spared him a life of lower serving, placing him squarely in the course to oneday being something of a wife. He was taught poetry and plays, that he might recite for his lords. He was taught the sciences and philosophy, that he might be capable of offering entertaining conversation. He was taught song and dance, that he might lull them to sleep. But, he picked these up so fast, so eagerly, that they had a hard time finding out what else to teach the eagerly servile wyrmkin. It was by chance that they began teaching him more useful things, so that he might be a decent advisor, expecting no trouble from a wyrmkin. One of his trainers remarked that he was no danger as an advisor, as wyrmkin were too dim to plot against their betters. He was, by all means, satisfied, with his lot, not thinking for more or less.

He was to find that his popularity shattered the wyrmkin's small heaven. Marrying age saw him given by the trainers he trusted to the owner of the court that would have eaten him in his egg, the cruel emperor FATHOFTADS. He survived the night only because the centuries-old emperor finished early, the dragon's newest wife recovering for a few weeks before he was "usable" again. Bward was told by others it was okay, that this is the price of the safety of the castle, and thanks to their advanced medicine was able to heal the many cuts and scores in his back and chest without scarring, as though it hadn't happened. Slowly, he would return to his good health and old faith in his occupation, but a seed was planted in him. A single small thought formed in his head.

All of this is wrong.

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furblrwurblr · 4 years ago

Text

Moppet!Douxie x GN!Reader, Soulmate AU | Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Fire/Explosion, lots of crying, self esteem issues, misunderstandings cause a lot of emotional turmoil

Note: This is my first fic! I know fics have it worse than art, but if you'd consider leaving tips in the comments, I'd be super grateful! Thanks for taking a look!

It was springtime in Camelot, near the turn of the season. The sun was high, the birds were singing, and you... were late. As a magic user, your life was in constant jeopardy regardless of your employment as the Crowmaster, Crowlord Corbin’s apprentice, penning and sending letters for the kingdom. And in this kingdom, tardiness was not appreciated. Racing through the castle halls with the king’s letters in hand, you noticed movement on your forearms.

“I wonder what color their eyes are. I bet they’re lovely.”

Your lips curled in a tender smile at the curling words that appeared on your skin. Similar musings crossed your soulmate’s mind daily, not leaving your body free of the enigmatic “ink” for years.

No one, not even the renowned Merlin Ambrosius, knew the precise nature of the words that would mark people’s skin, only that they were your soulmate’s thoughts about you. Soulmates were a fickle thing, their connections varying with different cultural beliefs and changing as countries developed. In England, the written words made finding your soulmate a tad difficult as one couldn’t know if their other half was paying any mind when they tried to share personal details. It was said that once you know them wholly, you’re complete in all things. Whatever that means.

You’d once been impatient to meet your own, to know what it means to be complete, but after years of black markings coming and going, covering your body in kind words of admiration, you deemed them worth the wait.

You were shocked from your reverie in a flutter of parchment. You’d bumped into someone, the king’s letters falling to the ground right into… was that slorr juice? You didn’t even apologize to the raven-haired young man whose spell material you’d just gotten all over the floor. You were far too panicked. Knowing your animal magic was of no help here, you scrambled to salvage what you could.

Hisirdoux was in trouble. Merlin would have his head when he told him he lost the slorr juice to another bout of soulmate pondering, and have it again when he discovered that said juice is the reason the king didn’t receive his news regarding the upcoming royal summit. Douxie leaned forward to help but instead opted to frantically search his brace for anything that could help the poor apprentice in front of him.

When he’d finally found the rune, the Crowmaster had just finished shaking off what liquid they could from the sensitive documents. He quickly dried them hoping to save the ink on them as best he could, long fingers flitting over each. In a hurried frenzy of apologies and farewells, the hallway was emptied.

Merlin was less than pleased, and frankly, a little concerned. Douxie usually gets so cautious after a mistake that even Merlin feels his stress, but this was the third time this week. Why was he so focused on his soulmate? After a right scolding, Douxie retired to his room to study. Merlin nearly did a double-take at what was written on his young apprentice’s neck.

“He was quite kind.”

So they’d met. Did his soulmate know? Did Douxie know?

Over the next few weeks, you two kept running into one another. A passing here, an acknowledgment there. After about a month you’d come to look forward to seeing the boy trip over himself en route to Merlin’s study. You helped him carry supplies when the Crowlord was away and talked when he dropped off Merlin’s letters to the court magicians across England. For some reason, you found yourself hanging on his every word and smiling whenever you caught a glimpse of his adorable manbun weaving through the streets.

He felt the same. It was never enough to speak to you in passing and he even left long conversations with you feeling wanting. He doesn’t quite remember how he started, but it’d become a habit to watch you work through the large western tower window. He’d admire your tenderness with the crows and was warmed by your bond with your hawk familiar.

As you left the tower to retire for the night, he always thought you might be cold, but never gathered the courage to walk you to your chambers.

Douxie was concerned. The day was halfway through, winter clouds covering the high sun, and you were nowhere to be seen. He’d watched you enter the western tower at dawn and the candlelight hadn’t been extinguished once. He was principally done with Merlin’s tasks for the day, perhaps he could pop his head in? “just for a minute,” he decided.

He exited his chambers (Merlin’s storage closet) and rapped a knuckle on his master’s desk, pulling his attention from some blueprints. Merlin didn’t speak, just gave an expectant look.

Douxie ran a near-trembling hand through his tied black hair before cautiously speaking up. “Master, may I have the rest of the day off?”

“Whatever brought this on? After the way you’ve been acting these past months?”

Douxie averted his gaze, suddenly finding his shoes far more interesting. “I’d… I’d like to see someone today.”

After a beat, the master wizard quickly scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to the boy.

“Finish these and I’ll consider your time served for the day,” Merlin sighed.

Douxie had been sure he would shut down. He quickly snatched the list and ran to the door, uttering a rushed ‘thank you master’ before it shut behind him. Merlin watched him leave, fondness in his eyes.

The sun was just dipping past the high kingdom walls, turning the town a vibrant orange. Douxie hung the herbs he’d just gathered, heaving a sigh of great relief when the last one was in place. He raced across the west side, eager to visit his… friend? Is that who you were to him? He banished the thought as he came upon the west tower, dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Citizens, a lot of them, stood in a line from the tower out down the hallway.

“What’s going on?” he asked a young woman.

“I’m here with my children, the Crowmaster is penning wishlists for Saint Nick. Just a shilling each!”

Douxie nodded and thanked her, then made his way to the tower. He gently pushed past the mob gathered in the doorway, stammering apologies. At last, he reached the Crowlord’s desk. The man himself was nowhere to be seen and you were alone, writing away at the whim of an excited child. He caught a glimpse of your face, you looked tired. Had you really been doing this all day?

Exhausted wasn’t a big enough word to describe how you felt. The only thing keeping you going was reading the various forms of concern written on your skin. By now, you knew you’d met them, but you couldn’t place who it could be. However, thinking was only making you more fatigued as your aching wrist swept across the parchment.

Douxie said nothing, just pulled out the Crowlord’s chair, and sat down. You looked at him, eyes wide, but the only explanation offered was a kind smile. He picked up a quill and called out for the next person to step forward. You turned back to the young girl asking for a sword, your smile wide and heart swelling.

By the time you two finished, the sun was half past the horizon. The last patron left the tower and you both heaved a sigh of relief.

“I can’t than-”

“Um, do you think-”

You looked at one another and laughed, waiting for the other to speak. Douxie hesitated, then took a deep breath.

“Uhm, do you think you’ve some time? I’d like to show you something,” he asked, lifting his eyes to your face.

“Sure,” you replied, smiling and holding out your elbow.

He beamed, quickly grabbing two pieces of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. You raised a brow but let him be as he threaded your arm through his and started walking.

The young wizard’s apprentice couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was far too nervous. Thankfully, you found the silence comfortable as he led you up a winding staircase at the corner of the castle. Once you both reached the top, he gestured to the sea. It was breathtaking. The salty breeze floated through your hair as you admired the sun’s glow over the water and the colors of twilight.

Douxie broke the quiet. “I thought you’d like this. Hmm, it isn’t enough light to write by though.” He waved his hand, sending blue wisps to swirl around you both. You watched them float about, eyes finally landing on Douxie who was making himself comfortable in a crenel, placing the supplies he’d brought with him on the merlon in front of him. You settled across from him, reaching for the quill.

His slender hand caught yours and laid in on the stone, gently massaging your wrist. “You’ll injure yourself at this rate. Let someone else write for you today.” His gaze caught yours, hazel eyes full of concern, and… something else you couldn’t place.

A gentle smile spread across your face as you reveled in the sun on your skin and the breeze on your lips. Douxie shuffled his papers around and spoke up again a moment later.

“So! What’s your wish?” Douxie asked, smiling wide.

“What?” you said, puzzled.

Douxie rose a brow, pointing out “All today, has anyone penned you a wishlist?”

“I suppose not,” you said, the smile settling back onto your face.

He beamed and set the quill to the parchment again. “Fantastic. Not that I think it’s fantastic no one’s offered, I’m just glad I get to- oh, I never even asked. I should have asked first, I’m so sorry-,” His shoulders tensed, but he stopped abruptly when he felt your hand on his.

“Hisirdoux, thank you. I’d love it if you did, there’s no need to worry.”

You started telling him things you wanted for Christmas and conversation flowed from there. Teasing banter and loud laughter filled the sky as it turned to night, blue magic floating around you both excitedly in time with your synchronized heartbeats as he finally walked you to your chambers, even offering you his hood. What could he do? He thought you looked cold.

It was just past noon on Christmas day. The ground sparkled a bright white and children’s laughter rang through the air. You took a deep breath of the crisp air and let it out in a contented sigh, taking a sip of the warm cider your master bought you before he left to celebrate with his family. He invited you to join them, but you opted to celebrate it yourself. You placed the cider on the table next to the window you were sitting in and picked up the small wood block you were fashioning into a present for Douxie. The small wooden cat-dragon only needed his hind leg to be freed from its timber prison. It wasn’t perfect, but it’s the thought that counts. As you worked, sentences curled up your arms and swirling letters kissed the base of your fingers. You paused your whittling with a frown. The only feeling behind this gift was love. You’d accepted you loved Douxie after that night bathed in twilight and lonely smiles, but you felt so incredibly twisted about it. You’d already met your soulmate and they thought about you often. Did your soulmate also worry they’d fallen in love with the wrong person? You shook your head, clearing your mind at the sound of wingbeats. Your hawk familiar landed on your raised knee and began to preen themself, looking at you smugly through pristine feathers.

“I can feel you overthinking things from across the castle,” they spoke, masking concern under teasing.

You scoffed, knowing they were right. “What am I meant to do? I can’t go on like this when I’ve got a soulmate out there. I can’t even try, it’s against the law! They know we’re bonded, what if they see me with him? I don’t want to hurt them like that. Not to mention, what if he’s not perfect for me? I want the soulbond to experience all of another person, but should I give that up for love?”

Your familiar shook their head and flew away, leaving you with your question hanging in the air. Watching them leave, you noticed someone walking towards the slorr’s stable. The manbun was too recognizable for there to be a shred of doubt: Douxie was being put to work on Christmas Day. You turned the wooden Archie in your hand and pushed off the windowsill. Just because you love him doesn’t mean you can’t stay friends.

Douxie was in flux. Archie saw the boy’s neutral expression turn sour as he read what he could of his soulmate’s thoughts. They loved someone else? Would they give him up for someone they’d already met? He couldn’t exactly criticize, he was in the same boat. Y/N was so important to him, but if he found his soulmate, could he quell the confusing little thing they had together for someone he barely knew? He decided he’d understand if his soulmate didn’t love him, he’d want them to do the same. He loved Y/N too much to let them go.

He looked up from his arm and startled. You were waiting for him, leaning against the slorr’s gate, your hawk familiar preening themself. While you laughed at his absentmindedness, he frantically rolled his ¾ sleeves down over the words that betrayed his true heart.

“Y-Y/N! W-what are you doing here? Aren’t you- um, aren’t you meant to be celebrating?” Douxie stammered out as his heart rate slowed.

You pushed off the gate and grabbed the pail he was holding in his hands that were still light with adrenaline. “I am! I opted not to celebrate with Master Corbin and his family, take the day for myself and see where it leads,” you said, a hopeful grin rising to your lips.

Douxie broke into a giddy smile, his heart afloat. They had all of Christmas to enjoy the town and they were here with him? He couldn’t believe his fortune. “Then I’m glad it led you here!” he exclaimed.

Archie curled himself around your leg, butting his dark head into your calf. “Are you here to enjoy the show?” he asked with a purr.

Your laugh was the only thing keeping Douxie from strangling his bespectacled familiar, so he settled for a pout you internally cooed at.

Both of you paused in front of the gate, reluctant to enter. He swung it open with a bow. “Ladies first.”

“Cheeky,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Archie and your familiar started playing with one another as you two prepared to take on the slorr together.

Hm. This was a mess. The slorr seemed to enjoy the happy atmosphere you’d both created so she was a tad more cooperative, but it took longer for her to calm down. You and Douxie were covered head to toe in the glowing blue liquid, trying to remove what you could into the pail Merlin gave him. Your shared laughter slowed to silence as you noticed him staring at you, eyes slowly roving over your face. Did he look… sad? No, that wasn’t it. Before you could scrutinize him further, you felt it. Gentle fingers caressing your cheek, going up, up… Your breath hitched as he laid his palm to your cheek, thumb slowly moving across your face. You let out a shaky breath and he jolted, noticing your wide eyes fixed on his and quickly withdrawing his hand.

He shook some juice from his hand and gesticulated wildly, stammering through an apology. “You- you had some juice on your cheek, I’m so sorry, Merlin’s tower, I shouldn’t have done that-”

“It’s okay, really. Thanks for getting it for me,” you interrupted. You wanted to say more, but his sleeve had risen in his fervor, swirling lines reminding you he wasn’t yours to comfort. Hisirdoux was such an emotional and empathetic being, he wouldn’t leave his soulmate. Especially since his soulmate would have to be an absolute saint, it’s no less than he deserved. Taking a deep breath in, you looked back at him. “Don’t bite your lips, you’ll chap them. Was that your last task for the day?”

Douxie released his lip, fighting the urge to continue chewing it. “It was, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to use the rest of the afternoon,” he said, watching as his familiar and yours playfully wrestled for a mouse.

Your heart leaped, this was your chance! “How would you like to spend it together? There are tons of things to do in town and I’ve saved up my pay for a while so I’ve some wiggle room. Not to mention, I’ve made you something.”

The nervous cloud around you both dissolved as Douxie eagerly agreed and begged you to reveal what you had for him. You denied him with a laugh, smile widening with his every impatient groan. Your familiars ran ahead of you both, swirling in a frenzy of playful fighting and laughter as you walked out of the castle, arm-in-arm.

The town was a sight to behold. Holly curled around door frames, red berries nestled among twisted wreaths. Mistletoe hung from building corners, tracks disrupted the perfect layers of fresh snow, and children weaved and ducked through throngs of people gathered around street musicians. Snowballs were flying at the end of every street, laughter and song floating in the air with the excited chatter of families buying wares for their families, and lines of crushed berries stained the ground. It was an English tradition to wish to meet your soulmate sooner by spreading holly berries in a line on Christmas as a nod to the Chinese legends of the soulstring, a red string that connected soulmates there. Sure, it made a mess of your shoes but you always found it cute.

The first few minutes were unsure, both of you fishing for ideas on what to do first. Archie and your familiar were already deep in conversation, but you and Douxie were struggling. That is, until, the smell of sweet buns reached him. His stomach let out a mighty grumble, a testament to how he’d been working for longer than you and likely hadn’t eaten lunch yet. He covered his pale face with his free hand, too embarrassed to bear seeing you fight a rising smile. You slid your hand down his forearm and grasped his cold fingers, pulling him towards the source of the heavenly aroma. A fiery blush rose to his ears when he registered your fingers lacing with his while you waited in line. Reaching the front, Douxie’s protests fell on deaf ears as you swatted his hands away, insisting you’d pay. The baker gave a soft smile and handed you two of the high coveted baked goods, bidding you both a happy Christmas. Just two apprentices walking hand in hand, browsing stalls, eating together, and enjoying one another's company.

Douxie heard something on the wind and perked up. Lively music came from the town square and Douxie wasn’t about to miss the chance to dance with you. He pulled you from the daggers you were eyeing, making a note of which you lingered on before pulling you close and weaving through the other partygoers. Soon enough, you made it to the musicians, seeing the space before them where a group was dispersing as the song ended. The vocalist started up again, solo for a few lines until the band swelled. Douxie bounced on his heels, recognizing the tune as The Bear and the Maiden Fair. His excitement sent a wave of courage through him and he slipped his fingers from yours, instead grabbing you by the wrist to drag you to the open space. Others joined, forming a circle. Claps and stomps interrupted the smooth movement of the ring. Laughter mixed with the joyful notes of the flute. Hisirdoux couldn’t stop looking at your joined hands, sometimes lifting his gaze to your eyes closed in a laugh. When the vocalist reached the line “lifted her high into the air”, Douxie broke his hand away from the person opposite you, lifted you by the waist, and spun. Your clothes fluttered and for a moment, you were weightless. Douxie’s laughter rang in your ears, lingering just like the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. His hands were warm and firm on your midsection, the heat replaced with a chill as he set you down. You absently continued the dance, happiness clouding the passage of time. Douxie kept your hand in his, allowing your arms to fall to your sides. You looked at each other, breathless smiles lingering on your faces as the song changed once more. You both walked on, catching your breath and coming down from the high.

A few hours later, you’d both had more interaction with each other than you’d had with anyone else all year. It was a welcome break from the same hallways, the same people, and the same routines. You’d bought each other dinner, talked about everything under the sun, and danced through seemingly all of Camelot, only separating for maybe an hour to buy gifts that may or may not have been for one another.

The day was coming to a close, the sun once again a deep vermillion, the snow reflecting it like gems. As you were heading back to the castle, you passed a holly berry stall. Douxie saw you looking at it, sobered by the reminder you were both promised to complete strangers. Just today, he’d fallen so much more in love with you than he thought possible, and if you wanted your soulmate, who was he to deny you? He tugged on your arm, wordlessly offering a pound to the vendor. The woman raised a brow at your intertwined fingers but offered the small basket of berries without a question. You looked at him quizzically when he drew his hand from yours, pouring a good amount into his hand and giving you the remainder. Enjoying the bittersweet silence, you two took turns placing the berries in a line. Archie swatted your familiar’s eager beak from the line of red that was stark against the slow-melting snow. Once you’d finished, Douxie sent you a sad smile and asked if you’d like to exchange gifts in his chambers. You agreed, once again arm-in-arm, streets quiet except for the soft crunching of snow beneath your heavy feet and the pound of heavy hearts.

Hisirdoux lit all his candles as the sun peeked just over the horizon. Archie made himself comfortable on his wizard’s pillow, curling around a tired hawk familiar. Your own wizard associate preened themselves while you and Doux sat on the bed, eventually opting to preen Archie when they were satisfied. Archie let out a yelp when she preened the edge of his ear, earning a look from you. Douxie pulled out a handful of items from his satchel with a flourish and showed you all the things he’d found one by one. Polish for Lancelot’s sword, a garlic braid for one of Galahad’s more ambitious brews, cooked salmon for Archie, and other things spread out in front of him.

He gave a nervous smile. “Close your eyes,” he breathed.

You smiled as your eyes slid shut. His slim, cold fingers touched your hand, causing goosebumps to rise on your arm as he pressed something small into your palm.

“And… open!” He slid his hands from yours and into his lap, an expectant look on his long face. Looking down, you gasped. There laid a ring that looked to be made of vines, weaving around each other and wrapping around the base of a tiny white flower.

“I found a curltrap in the forest on my last herb run and thought you might like it, so I made it into a ring. It won’t wilt. Um… do you? Like it, I mean,” he asked, brows pinching.

You slipped it on and looked at him in awe. Leaning forward, you softly put your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “Douxie, it’s beautiful. No one’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift, thank you for making it.” He laid his hands on your back and laid his face in the crook of your neck to return the gesture, hand trailing after when you pulled away.

“Your turn!” You reached into your bag and paused. “Close your eyes.”

Douxie pouted but held his hand out after doing as he was told. He felt something hard and contoured, slowly curling his long fingers around it. He opened his eyes and stared at it in awe. It was wood whittled in Archie’s likeness, complete with small green gems for eyes and tiny glasses frames made of wire. His wings were unfurled, his posture inquisitive. Archie looked at it, speechless.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I played it safe. When I told the carpenter it was for you he offered to inlay the gems for free. You’re more appreciated than you think!” you exclaimed with a smile. He whispered a “thank you” as he turned it over in his hands, admiring the details. In all honesty, he’d already committed every dip and groove to memory, he was just replaying your words in his mind. “You’re more appreciated than you think!” He never thought about the impact he had on others, he was too busy being concerned with Merlin’s opinion of him. That’d be something he’d have to work on if it made you smile like that.

The rest of the evening flew by, laughter and the sound of a lute seeping through Douxie’s chamber door and into Merlin’s study. By now you’d fallen asleep on his bed having drifted off while Douxie softly sang a folk lullaby you’d requested. He lifted the blanket over you and laid down, the blanket layered between you two. He stared at you while you slept, soaking you in. The shadows your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Your chest rising and falling in tandem with his. The black lines swirling to your collarbone- wait. Douxie watched as a thought appeared on your skin, hidden under your shirt. Archie moved in circles at the foot of the bed and stopped abruptly feeling Douxie’s sudden fear. He was so tempted to look but he couldn’t risk you hating him… it’s just to see what they think of you. To see if they deserve you. Yeah, that was a viable excuse. Archie hissed quietly at his friend, watching Douxie’s trembling fingers gingerly expose the skin towards your shoulder. He looked at the two words, puzzled. “They’re breathtaking.” Did they see you in the square? Had it been when you’d separated? Douxie was torn from his own thoughts when you made a noise, your brow furrowing for a moment and relaxing. His hand still had your collarbone exposed, and he watched in equal parts elation and horror as his own thought scrawled itself onto your skin.

“I don’t know if I can let you go.”

His blood ran cold, breath hitching and mind flailing.

You were his. You were fated to be his. But you loved someone else.

Spring had returned to Camelot, plants thriving in the sun’s warmth. The flowers were happy, fluttering in the sea breeze. You furrowed your brow when your heart clenched at the thought of such beautiful blossoms mocking you. A shadow passed over your face as you looked to the flower that still curled itself around your finger. It’d been three months since the best Christmas you’d ever had, but the memory was now stained. Douxie and you still talked, but for some reason, he made excuses to avoid you and felt distant when you were able to cajole him into a short walk. At first, it seemed like he was busy with the amulet, but then he was absent even when Merlin said he was stuck and didn’t require his apprentice’s help. You were disappointed and confused, feeling hurt every time he blew you off with some excuse of running errands for Merlin.

Hisirdoux wasn’t feeling any better. He missed you greatly and seeing what you thought of his excuses only deepened his guilt. But wasn’t this what you wanted? Why would you be so disappointed he wouldn’t spend as much time with you if you loved someone else? He chalked it up to the soulmate bond, ignoring Archie’s concern and attempts at advice. His eyes were sunken in and puffy, due in part to crying himself to sleep watching your pain at his sudden distance write itself on his skin. He’d go to bed with swirling lines of magical ink torturing his dreams and awake a blank slate, ready for it to start all over again.

Archie couldn’t take this. For the past week, he’d been pushing his magic through their psychic bond, pouring parts of a sleep spell into his charge, but that would only work for so long. Douxie was destroying himself from the inside out, all because he couldn’t be selfish for once and speak up. The shifter waited for Douxie to leave for the day, telling him he’d find him at noon. Archie stayed in front of the door until the young man’s voice faded. He sighed, whispering an apology. Douxie wouldn’t want anyone to know, but the boy needed an intervention.

“Merlin? We need to talk.”

Merlin had noticed Douxie’s exhaustion and had purposefully lightened his load, but the boy kept working regardless. Merlin thought less work could allow him to spend more time with the Crowmaster (who at this point couldn’t be anyone BUT Douxie’s soulmate considering how quickly they bonded and how much time they spent together), but he’d come back to his study to see the books sorted a different way every week, the suits of armor impossibly polished, and the herb rack overflowing with all kinds of magical flora. As Archie relayed the events of the past few months, Merlin felt his chest constrict tighter and tighter. His heart bled for the boy, growing angry at just how oblivious you both were. And then, an idea. Not one of his best or subtlest, but it’d get the job done fast and serve as a bit of punishment for confusing his apprentice’s heart.

It was that time of year again. The yearly royal summit had you and the Crowlord running circles around one another, both of you rapidly penning and sending letters and the occasional need to coerce the grumpiest crow, Corvus, to carry just one more letter for the day. Between your familiar’s regular several-day flights to Spain, your scurrying around the castle, and the magic you were giving the crows for some extra juice, you were exhausted. Your eyes were sunken, you weren’t sleeping properly, and you missed Douxie. You didn’t know why, but his absence made your heart hurt. Every time you collected letters from Merlin, your throat closed at seeing his apprentice’s chamber door. Catching a glimpse of him through doorways and windows made your mouth dry. Both Master Corbin and Galahad had noticed your change in attitude, asking you to rest and why Douxie wasn’t with you, confused why you were no longer attached by the hip. You were tired. Everything fell by the wayside as you rushed from official to official. The king himself was concerned for you. Well, as concerned as he was willing to be towards a mage.

Finally, there was a lull. You were able to rest for a while but didn’t dare leave the tower, knowing something would pop up eventually. Sitting down for what felt like the first time in weeks, you let everything go. The “mother hen” of the tower crows, Corinth, coaxed it out of you bit by bit until the dam burst. She preened your scalp while you cried, hot tears rolling down your twisted features. The feeling was comforting, helping to ease your upset. Finally, you were able to speak.

“...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?” you whimpered, drawing your knees to your chest.

“Perhaps he’s blind,” she said sagely.

“He can see perfectly well,” you whispered with an insincere chuckle, still not trusting your ability to speak without breaking down again.

Her eyes glinted in the noontime sun. “Stupid, then.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling and forcing tears that were left on your lashes to fall. “Douxie may well be stupid, but he isn’t simple. It’s one of his many charms.” A soft smile lingered on your face, heart lighter than before. “Thank you Corinth, you listen well.”

She shook out her plumage and settled on your knees, cuddling into your bosom. You stroked her gently, the silence pushing in on your curled form.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Poor Hisirdoux was in flux again. He sat on his bed turning the wooden Archie over in his hands. Merlin had left not too long ago and given him the day. Douxie’s hands felt light without a task. Come to think of it, his head felt light too. He couldn’t sleep yet, but he desperately needed a pick-me-up. A sigh escaped him when he realized his basin was nearly empty. He’d wanted something to do so he might as well refill it. Upon picking up the basin he dropped it immediately, water splashing violently across the floor along with the clatter of wood on stone. Archie yowled, shifting into his dragon form. The boy’s eyes were wide in horror as he recalled his reflection in the water. You see, in England, not only are the words of a soulmate tie important, but their placing on the skin holds equal meaning. Douxie had only ever gotten them on his limbs and the base of his skull when he was younger, but ever since he met Y/N, they began showing on his torso and the left side of his chest. But this… this couldn’t mean anything good. Scrawled black lines, no longer smooth and flourished, curled around his throat. They began from seemingly nowhere and writhed downwards in a creeping spiral, the end reaching for his heart.

“Arch!” he cried. “What’s happening? Why are they like this? What do they say? Arch, Arch, please I need to know what’s wrong!” Tears welled in his hazel eyes as he dragged his hands down his throat, futilely trying to smudge the twisted lines.

Archie felt his fear so strongly his back arched on its own accord, but he found his way to Douxie quickly. He scampered to the boy just as he fell to his knees, his mind nothing but questions. Archie shifted, paws pulling Douxie’s frantic hands into his lap as he curled his wings around the boy’s shoulders. He sniffed and shuddered to a halt, shaky breaths drawing in and out as he lifted his head for Archie to read the swirling text.

Archie’s reaction to your thoughts was well hidden. He knew you two loved each other, but this hurt him just as much as it did Douxie. “...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?” The next bit made him breathe a laugh, but he realized that while it wouldn’t be easy to tell Douxie just how much you were both hurt by each other’s assumptions, it was just the proof he needed. Archie tugged the reluctant apprentice out into Merlin’s study.

Hisirdoux approached the mirror, looking back at Archie before he confronted the letters snaking down his collarbone. He twisted this way and that, heart falling to pieces over and over with every word.

He shifted his hood back into place, fluffing the collar to cast the letters in shadow. One look at Archie’s concerned face was all it took. He sank against the wall, gathering Archie into his arms and burying his face into his familiar’s side. Glistening tears wet Archie’s fur as the cat dragon purred loudly to offer comfort.

Hisirdoux’s breathing evened out. “Arch, what have I done? What can I do?” he whispered, clutching the familiar ever closer.

Archie placed a large paw on the boy’s chest, near his heart. “You can go after them. Tell them what you know.”

Douxie nodded after a beat and gathered himself, quickly walking out of Merlin’s tower and towards the western wing of the castle.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

The king and his court mages piled into a carriage in preparation for the trip to the port where they’d depart to Spain for the royal summit. Merlin and Morgana sat next to each other and shared a look when the carriage lurched forward. Of course Merlin enlisted Morgana’s help, she’s a trusted source of chaos. He felt for the Crowlord’s aura in the tower and nodded to her once he confirmed Corbin was away. While Arthur was distracted, they sent their magic out. Tendrils of light bobbed, weaved, and merged to form two fluorescent lime balls. They floated around as if to get their bearings, then flew at the west tower. Nestled just below the ridge leading from the doorway was a sack of Dworkstone, its contents belonging to various trolls imprisoned in the castle dungeons. One ball started to vibrate just before it pushed to the center of the sack, starting the movement needed for a mother of an explosion The other flattened into a shield, curling itself around the sack. And they waited.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

You were still curled on the floor, Corinth in your lap when the crows began to beat their wings against their cages. Corinth was panicked but managed to push what coherent thought she could into your mind.

“The door… danger... hurry…” She struggled, taking off out the window in a flutter of black.

You felt the disturbance, dread rising in the pit of your stomach. Scrambling to your feet, you barely managed to stand before a loud boom shook the tower. The shield swelled, Trollfire stretching the ward into the room. Your frantic hands undid locks and bonds as quickly as they could, ushering the crows to safety through the large window. The ward began to thin, crackles of green sparks coming undone as the fire fought against Merlin’s magic. You barely managed to throw the last crow out the window before the ward burst into a violent, moving wall of green flames.

You were pushed into the far wall, falling and splitting your brow on the cobblestone. All you could hear was ringing as your vision went white, slowly fading back to normal. You were trapped under the desk and a few chairs, too weak to lift them off. The screech of a hawk sounded far off as your hearing faded in and out. Fire blazed all around you, easily spreading along the hay bedding in the open cages. You coughed, smoke already in the air. Wait. It shouldn’t be this low yet, it’s only been a few moments since the explosion. You quickly sobered into a panic when you realized the wood piled on top of you was burning. Great. Now you were scared and disoriented. A perfect mix for getting out of sticky situations. The only thing to do now was wait.

Douxie could swear he felt his soul leave his body. He was on his way to tell you-- well, everything. You were his everything. He felt it before he heard it. The tingle of troll and human magic filled the air before a loud explosion shook the western tower. The western tower? Fuzzbuckets, you were on duty today! Crows flew from the open window, a whole murder blackening the sky for a few moments. They’d dispersed by the time he made it to the tower entrance. There was a small crowd a few paces back, Lancelot and another knight inspecting the swelling ward full of fire. Douxie pushed through the crowd just in time to see Lancelot raising his sword.

“No! Everyone run!” he screamed.

Lance was already going full swing when he heard it, looking back at Douxie in fear. Douxie grabbed the knight and made the best ward he could on short notice before the shield burst. They were all blasted backward, a few serfs’ tunics setting on fire. His dark hair was thoroughly windswept, his entire body frozen in shock on the ground. Lancelot might have been screaming, but Douxie couldn’t hear it. Blood dripped down his pale face, but Douxie couldn’t feel it. He could have been floating, his head was so light. Sure, his ears rang, his hands trembled, his chest heaved, but all he could feel was you. Your confusion, your panic. You were definitely inside. Douxie struggled to his feet and stumbled forward into the tower, ignoring Galahad’s voice yelling for him to stop.

If he wasn’t suffocating before, he sure was now. Douxie brought his hood to his mouth to filter some of the air and began searching for you. It wasn’t a very big room, but between the fire, smoke, and items strewn throughout, it was proving more difficult than he’d hoped.

You let out a groan, the table pushing splinters into your leg.

He whipped his head towards the source of the sound, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. “Y/N?! Y/N, where are you?” he cried.

Weakly, you spoke through a great cough. “...Douxie? Is that you?”

He hurried to the large pile of wood and began tearing it apart. “It’s me, it’s me, love. Please be alright, please, please, please, you can’t die. You’re not going to die, love.”

Hisirdoux heaved the table off you just as you slumped to the floor. He lifted you by the arms with a mighty roar, dragging you towards the open doorway. Galahad and the knight from earlier ran to catch you both as Douxie slipped into unconsciousness.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Two days. You hadn’t stirred for two days. The sun shone softly through the long linen curtains. Your familiar was perched on the headboard, asleep. Douxie was sat up by your bedside, bandaged hands gingerly holding one of yours while Archie slept on your legs. The boy had gotten burned pulling the debris off of you. He hadn’t left your side, save when the castle nurses forced him to eat, bathe, and sleep. They knew him well, uncoordinated as he was, and it broke their hearts to see him look so tired although the past couple of days were the most rested he’d ever been. He was scared. Everything had gone downhill when he found out you were soulmates and he blamed himself.

“None of this would have happened if I’d just told you. You could have been away from the tower, safe with me. I was too afraid of losing you. All I knew was you loved someone else and I couldn’t let you guilt yourself into abandoning ‘him’ because we’re bonded. I was on my way to tell you, you know. I saw what you were thinking to Corinth and Archie convinced me to go after you. I-” his voice cracked, fresh tears coming to his eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I have long before I knew about the bond. I hurt you. I hurt us both. If only I wasn’t such a coward…” He was weeping now, head hung low and shoulders shaking. “I love you so much, and I still let this happen,” he stammered between quiet sobs. He brought your hand to his forehead, cradling it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you were.

He jumped when your hand slowly withdrew from his. His head snapped up, and there you were. Sun shining behind you like a halo, your eyes glinting in a tearful smile. You wiped the tears from his cheek, just like he’d done to you with the unruly slorr all those months ago, and let out a yelp of surprise. Douxie had thrown his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

“Doux! Your hair tickles,” you croaked, bringing your arms around him. He was crying again, just a little. His chest felt light. You were here. You were okay. Archie had woken when you jumped and was padding up to your face, pushing himself against your cheek. You sat up slowly when Douxie released you and patted the space next to you on the cot. He settled and looked up at you, eyes still sad.

“So, uh. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” You cupped his face. “Douxie. I didn’t fall in love with a coward. I fell in love with the bravest, most selfless wizard in Camelot. Not to mention his adorable manbun. I love you too, Hisirdoux Casperan. Soul bond or not, I want to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

He brought his hand to yours, feeling the tiny curl trap blossom on the ring he made you. Gently, he took their hand in his, admiring the accessory. “Even after all I did, you kept it on.”

“And I don’t plan on ever taking it off,” you smiled.

He slowly removed the ring, taking hold of your left hand. His eyes were hopeful and a little scared when he looked up at you, fingers pausing. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Promise?”

“With my whole heart, love.”

You placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a soft, loving kiss as he slipped the promise ring onto your finger.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Lance had lost his arm in the explosion but was rather excited about his new prosthetic. You two had healed as well, soon going back to work. Every time you passed one another, fingers brushed, kisses were stolen, and smiles were shared. The entire castle ended up hearing about how you two became so close, and soon enough, you were somewhat of a folk tale amongst the townsfolk. Now, every Christmas, soulmates exchange handmade gifts while sharing sweetbuns, now deemed a good omen for true love.

Even now, 900 years later, you’d hide your smiles as Arcadian couples surprised one another with things they’d made while ordering an eclair at Benoit’s. It’d been so long, but it seems some things stay the same, you and Hisirdoux included. Sure, you’d both grown in character, but around you, he was still the same lovesick fool he had been all those years ago. You still had your ring, which he’d embellished a bit on your wedding day. Douxie still thought about you as much as he did then. Today, while you were at your job at HexTech, you smiled adoringly at the words on your wrist.

“Your eyes are such a lovely color. Oh, how far we’ve come from clumsy accidents and runny ink. I love you, darling. More than you can ever know.”

#douxie #douxie x reader #soulmate au #x reader #hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux casperan x reader #toa wizards #tales of arcadia wizards #wizards douxie #wizards archie #toa merlin #toa #idfk what tags to use man #furbleart #it counts #furblewrites #yayyy writing tag for all the ideas ive got but will probably never be done

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pionoplayer · 3 years ago

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I keep having this really dumb idea in my head of like... overly long undertale style genocide run? But in a setting specifically constructed in such a way to keep the serial escalation of it going without derailing/diluting the thematics. I dunno if it's a particularly good idea but since one of Everhood's songs put another fight concept into my head for it I decided I might as well post the original idea that came with it here to tumblr.

Steps echo down a ruined corridor, worn down by calamity and time both. At the far end, a figure slouches against a pillar, notices the newcomer, and stands up straighter to face them.

"Hey there. Didn't expect someone to make it this far.

Let alone for that someone to be you, of all people.

Guess this is the part where I give my little speech, yeah? That's usually how these things go.

There's a line I've heard said, quite a few times in fact. It goes something like…

'Do you believe that even the worst person, no matter how horrible, can change if they just try?'

I've always considered it a tacky line but in the end, I believe it. The answer was 'yes' for me after all…

But here's the thing, buddy.

After a certain point, the question stops being "can this person change" and starts being "how many people will they hurt if we give them that chance again".

Because a person can change, no matter how horrible… but only if they decide to.

And you've been given more chances than anyone could possibly earn at this point.

Some people would draw a line in the sand and dare you to cross it.

Not me. You've already crossed every line that mattered.

Some people would give you one last chance to drop your weapon and surrender.

But you already killed them all while their guards were down.

And some people are like you. Ruthless, cold, downright psychotic.

I'd say it turns out they were right but uh, you didn't really leave any of them lying around either did you?

So I'm gonna ask this question one, final time. Just for nostalgia's sake. Back when there were beautiful days outside, when there were flowers left to bloom and birds left to sing.

Are you ready to have a bad time?

Because you don't get a choice anymore, as far as you've come down your path the only thing left waiting for you is the worst time of your life.

NOW STAND STILL AND DIE LIKE THE CREATURE YOU ARE."

The newcomer - no, the challenger - steps forwards instead, sending an attack towards the figure at the end of the hall. The strike is rendered harmless.

"Yeah, I figured that would be your response. Let's get started then, shall we?"

The defender begins his own assault, attempting a pace to keep the challenger from launching their retort.

"You know, it's kinda funny. Looking at you, you don't look like the kind of person that would be responsible for everything happening."

A gap in the onslaught, another quick and precise strike, followed by the defender resuming his barrage.

"Hey now, that's not a jab at your height. I don't waste jokes on an audience like you. Just a statement of fact, ya know?"

Another opportunity, another missed shot.

"If it weren't for all the bloodstains and equipment stolen from the corpses of people better than you, I'd think you were just some poor sod looking for their way back home."

A gap, a strike. The pattern is established.

"Wherever your home was, it's probably not there anymore. A lot of homes aren't there anymore, thanks to you.

Doesn't that bother you? That wherever you started you can't go back? That everyone you might have ever cared about in whatever times and places you could've been…

Are just gone? Vanished? Obliterated so thoroughly that even we can't bring them back?

Look, kid. I don't know what your deal is. I know you by reputation alone, and even if my job is dealing with 'problems', I was really hoping I wouldn't wind up here. With you.

But every single one of them, even the psychopaths bent on breaking everything over their knee…

They still had something they wanted to see through. Something they wanted to protect, even if it was just their own sorry hides.

I look in your eyes, in your past, I see nothing. Oh, I see a house, and parents, maybe friends. But I don't see anything real. Real to you. It's like you've erased it, severed all your own ties on a conceptual level.

It's almost like you're just as gone as everything you've taken away."

Something changes. The strike lands a little closer, shaving off something small, insignificant. The constant barrage of destruction falters.

"...That fast huh? Go on, do it again. I dare you, kid."

Another strike. Another impossibly near miss.

"I didn't think you'd actually be dumb enough to do it. Guess my little ramble actually paid off yeah? Now I know exactly what you are. Approximately."

Another strike. This time the sound of it hitting the far wall seems to shake the very foundation of the world itself. And then the room fills with death.

"Let's see how you deal with phase two, buster."

The pattern resumes, just with more noise and violence.

"You know, I really don't know why I'm still talking to you. A friend of mine would tell me to stop wasting my energy…

But, you know, it calms my nerves. Pretending I'm talking to a real person.

Now, I'm sure you know the whole catastrophe, inside and out. You were right at the heart of it after all.

To get things straight though? You got lucky. We were busy, other problems were cropping up, and it didn't look like you were the threat you are until suddenly everything was collapsing.

And with what you are… do you think maybe in another branch of causality we could've maybe been coworkers? Maybe friends?

You've got the moxie to be one of us, I'll tell you what. A bit lacking on the 'morals' side of things though.

Guess it doesn't matter anymore. Even if I, if we, stop you dead in your tracks, in a way you've already won.

Can't go back from where we are now after all…

Speaking of 'not being able to go back', I'm getting a little bit tired of this endless back and forth. What do you say I… speed things up a little?"

Abruptly the pace picks up, what was already an assault leaving so little untargeted space it was frankly unreasonable that the challenger had gotten this far - and gotten this far unscathed no less - becomes an unrivaled, personally targeted cataclysm.

"...You know, even knowing what your deal is... watching you brush off one of my best tricks like it's a laser pointer is infuriating."

The challenger lashes out, a set of frantic, angry strikes that are abruptly cut short by a resumption of hostilities from the defender.

"So you know what? I'll take a turn at your game. Go ahead, hit me with your best shot before I can charge up something better. Let's see how this goes for you."

The hall is silent for the briefest of moments, before the challenger lets loose the first noise they've made throughout the entire confrontation; an infernal, blood-curdling shriek. Power ripples through the hallway, searing away pieces of it in a barrage of strikes meant to bring gods to their knees.

Everything freezes. The challenger, the collapsing hall, everything but the defender.

"Wow, you're really ready to have this be over with, aren't you? I'm sure you almost got me, try harder next time and I'm sure you'll get to see what comes after."

There's a crunch and a soft cry of pain. The challenger is forced to their knees.

"I've got a little piece of advice for you though, assuming you haven't gotten it from me already."

Another crunch, a steady pace of dripping liquid can be heard.

"Your little 'quest' doesn't end with me. I'm just the wake-up call. If you get past me somehow, things are gonna get a whole lot worse for you than you realize. You might wanna turn back now before things actually get ugly."

There's no sound besides the slow drip of blood to the floor of the ruined hall. Or something approximating blood at least.

"Now get lost."

GAME OVER

...You aren't getting rid of me that easily.

>RETRY

#undertale inspired #everhood inspired #original work #writing #monologue

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minghaoss-archive · 6 years ago

Text

mercury• lee taeyong(m)

taeyong ruins you, in more ways than you'd expect.

1, part 2

"do not mistake this myth for love, that is a different kind of burning."

.......

Taeyong grants you every little thing you ask of him, be it his touch or his defense but you regret wishing him of something which risks you seeing him ever again.

Your head hurts as the memory sets in, the wine doing little to mitigate the choked sobs you’re accustomed to. This picture that you can’t take your eyes off, it’s all your fault.

A week ago

Hendery looks like he's holding in dragon's breath when he looks at you. You search his face, a thick lump caught in your throat. In the warm glow of the camp fire, his pinkish face looks beautiful, you think, he's beautiful, but it's a little to late for you to shower him in accolades.

In his twist of emotions of creased brows, swollen and bitten mouth, it's almost as if someone ran a stake through his heart, his fist is rolled up in a ball of pale knuckles. From the looks of it, you know if it were any other guy than Taeyong, he'd have punched a hole through their face but Hendery is only holding back because there was no way he'd go home with a few injuries and a broken heart. "Why?" He asks you, eyes welling up with tears, his voice rises and turns a few heads circling around the fire which resembles the ring of flame in Taeyong's pitch black irises. Taeyong watches his tattooed knuckles with much attention as if he'd put it to use soon. He rests his arm around Hendery's shoulder like they were the best of friends.

You shoot Taeyong a quick panicky look but the boy only pulls a sleek cigarette out and winks at you. As if he hadn't just given your boyfriend a jump scare not long ago. You sigh, he wasn't going to help you, you were alone in this.

"I..I.." you start, looking for words which might suffice for the pain you'd caused him. Your tongue rolls in your mouth, as if it had no intention of relaying any form of explanation for what you did. "Why?" He reiterates, squeezing your interlaced fingers so tight you're sure they might snap. "Hendery..you're hurting me." You whimper, you can feel the girl who'd been sitting in between Taeyong's legs stare at you with an inscrutable fear in her eyes.

There are a few of your classmates who watch the show with more attention than that is needed. "Well, you hurt me too." He says, his tone relentless as he raises his fingers entangled with yours. "Do you know what she did?" He says, scanning the dumbstruck audience you're amongst.

You look at Taeyong again, help me, you try to relay as you watch his face brighten in the flicker of a gaslight whilst he sets his cigarette alight with his spare hand. He doesn't look at you. Not once.

You let tears spring, and roll down your cheeks, your hand feels like it's being broken. You've spent the whole of your school life being invisible, unhurt, and away from the public eye. So when he's hellbound on dragging your reputation through the dirt, you feel like all the years independent of embarrassment has finally been accumulated and thrown at you all at once.

He drags each syllable of your name, holding your palms up in the cold air, he starts, his face twisted in an ugly snarl,

"She cheat-" Taeyong hooks his finger in Hendery's mouth and drags him backwards so his ear is pressed close enough to whisper. "I wouldn't do that, coward boy. I wouldn't do that if I were you." He takes his cigarette from his lips and drills its half lit head in the fabric of Hendery's pale blue jeans.

Your ex boyfriend whimpers, letting your fingers go, "but then again, I'm not chicken enough to be you." You watch in horror as Taeyong unhooks his finger, letting the poor boy's mouth go as he watches him fall from the theatrical show he was going to host. There's a black patch on Hendery's pants, there must be a bruise underneath.

He, unable to hide away from the embarrassment from the crowd he'd gathered, gets to his feet and attempts to leave. He feel like an actor who'd forgotten the lines to his own play. You drag yourself up and follow behind him, calling his name. He had hurt your hand a whole lot, he'd almost wrecked your image but it still didn't justify what you did to him. At least to you.

"Hendery, wait." You say, sprinting behind him. He doesn't relent in his lengthy steps, and you can hear the heavy weight of spikey boots follow behind you, you don't have to think twice as to determine who it is.

When Hendery halts in his steps, with his back turned against you and his palms at his waist, you bend down to touch your knees, catching your breath.

"Why did you do that to me? Was I not good enough?" He screams now, as you reach out to touch him but he leans away from your grasp.

You breathe in broken bits, heavily affected by the sprint. "You were, you were." You lie, attempting to assuage him. You're guilty, it felt terrible to look at him like that. Hurt plastered across his face. You did this to him. “I-I’m sorry.” You choke out, watching him grimace at the word. “Fuck your sorry.” He spits, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“Let’s go back, ______.” Taeyong’s palm presses against your shoulder blade as he attempts to take you away. “Oh and look who’s here to bring you back. Your knight in shining armor.” Hendery spits back you, mocking you as he emotes his anger in a less than decent manner while shoving his hands in the air.

“You know what, I should’ve known that you were such a fucking slut.” You let your voice crack at that, “Always knew you had a sickly obsession with this guy, saw how you ogled him, freak.” You feel like someone had stripped you naked and pushed you in a crowd. What will Taeyong think of you now, will he really see you the same way as he did before?

“I’m not..I’m not a freak.” You whimper but his cruel words don’t stop at that. “No wonder no one fucked you for so long.” You hold your palm against your mouth, a muffled pained cry barely making past your shivering lips. Hendery looks unapologetic, like he wants to tear you apart with his words.

He eyes Taeyong, seething at the pair of you. A dry chuckle escapes Taeyong’s lips.

You should’ve seen it coming, from the numerous years that you’ve known Taeyong going around school with bruises, with a reputation of beating people into a pulp, a pulp that barely made it alive to see him again.

Taeyong lunges at the boy, his fist landing at his squared jaw with so much force that Hendery growls out like a wild animal. Your vision clouds as you fail to wipe at the burning tears that escape at a sight you can hardly make out.

You watch Taeyong’s broad back shift as he continues to punch Hendery’s face like it was something he had waited for all his life. It’s sick how you feel pleased with the way he’s beating the other boy up, however you berate yourself before this emotion overtakes you. You look back at the circle of your classmates and are relieved to see that most of them cannot hear you over the loud boom of music. No one knew what you did and frankly, no one cared.

You had bigger issues at hand, rather, given the pace of his hits, you’re sure Hendery won’t make it, not when he’s wailing like an injured dog. You attempt to push Taeyong away weakly, “Stop it..stop hurting him, you’ll kill him, Taeyong, stop.”

In the split second, you’re met with the acrid sight of Hendery’s bloody face as Taeyong rolls off of his body at the weight of your words, you knew that it was wrong, you were terrified of Taeyong. Was this the person you’d made love to? Was this the person you fell in love with?

You look at him in shock as you cradle Hendery’s bloody head, he’s holding onto you like it’s the only way he can breathe. When Taeyong leans in to touch you, you flinch way. Sobbing into the injured body as you hold it close to your chest. He sees the look in your eyes and recoils.

“I never want to see you again.” You say these words without meaning to, with a moral obligation grabbing at your throat, you watch the love of your life’s face morph from hurt to anger to stoicism as he walks away from you with the same bruised knuckles that fascinated you for so long.

He accepts your wish like any other.

Today

You look at the picture on your Instagram feed again and again again. Taeyong’s palms are pressed against some girl’s waist. His black hair falls over his right eye, an eye which is guarded by a freshly cut brow slit.

You wonder if he’s forgotten you. If he really knew that even if you had dragged Hendery to the hospital, that your heart was still with Lee Taeyong as it was that day at the cabin. You wonder if he called someone else his angel. If he could be call you his baby again.

Because you don’t want him to be someone else’s.

You wonder and wonder and you drag your drunk body up Taeyong’s apartment, you wonder and you knock.

As if he’s been waiting right there for you, he pushes the door open, not inviting you in. He watches you with his fingers splayed on his door. He’s wearing a glittery black tank top. One which would’ve made any other man look like a badly designed disco ball but not him-oh no, he looked like he belonged in this outfit, like it was his skin, like he was born in it.

“What do you want?” You wince at the icy tone of his voice, attempting to lean your head against the door but the man pushes it away from your access.

You feel a lump roll in your throat from the way he speaks to you, the mischievous glint in his eyes long gone, he does not look at you with the want he did before. This epiphany births a hurt in your chest.

He looks at your outfits, teeth clambering down on his now pierced bottom lip. He looks like he’s suppressing something you can’t make out in the low lighting. You’re dressed in a black skirt and a cropped black shirt, your attires are matched accidentally, your cheeks burn in embarrassment, maybe he really did think you were the freak Hendery accused you of being.

“I..I ..did.. not think it through when I said I didn’t want to see you again.” You close your eyes at the confession, watching as he looks at you like a predator would at his prey, you almost smile at this change.

“So?” Taeyong’s face falls into an impassive mask, he looks furious, those fiery ringlets in his eyes glimmer for a second. “I want to see you. I want to see you everyday.”

He nods, like your admission had no effect on him. “Thanks. Anything else you want?” You frown, jutting your lip out dramatically when he attempts to close the door. “I want you.” You whisper and the spark in his eyes appear. The omnipresent glint in his feautures is reborn, “I want to be your ang-” he pushes you against the open door and, drags you to him with the loops in your skirt’s waist.

When he kisses you, it sets your body alight like it did the first time he’d touched you, you moan into his mouth, attempting to push your fingers into his hair, which he presses over your head. His tongue is hot on yours and his body radiates heat like a tropical country would. He smells of gasoline, he tastes of coffee, he’s just as you remembered and just as you loved.

When he pulls away, you look at your feet, and he cages you between his body, his forehead pressed to the crown of your head. “I missed you.” He says, dragging the cool material of his rings along your exposed thighs as he hauls you up and wraps your legs around his lithe hips.

You groan in his touch.

Your stomach coiling, your intestines twisting in the warmth that spread out through out your tummy.

He drags you to his room, adorned by posters of rock bands you hardly recognize as he flings you to his gray bed in between wet kisses. He crawls over your body, kissing the base of your throat. You bask in the warmth of the severity of his heated touches, his mouth, his charcoal eyes and that scent of him that you missed so much.

You fall and fall into a pit so deep that you knew there was no going out. Taeyong had managed to ruin you, spoil you and every time he touched you, you felt like that Phoenix engraved into his honey skin, you felt like you might expode into flames.

Your hips roll into each other and the feeling of completion washes over you one more time.

“Ride me.” He says, his name you whisper in his ear. “I love .. I love the sound of my name on your tongue, angel, my angel.” He says. Your arms wrap around his neck and his mouth falls open at your lips, he whimpers, resting his hand back on the mattress as he leans back. His idle fingers squeeze your sides. "Fuck.. sweetheart. I missed you so much." He says, the bed groaning under your bodies. Your insides twist as you near your orgasm in a flash. Taeyong moans, his mouth on yours, hi fingers all over your body, as he kisses you with so much ardour that you feel like your eyes may roll back into your skull.

"Baby. You're gonna fucking drive me crazy." He says, scrunching his eyebrows upwards as he pushes his cum into your core. "Take me, darling, all of me." His voice is drops a few octaves, deep, and throaty, you kiss him again.

Taeyong always grants your wishes.

........

The night goes away in a blur, in the torment of the summer heat as your sleepy body sticks to Taeyong, the smell of sweat and the sound of heavy breathing is the only invader in his room. You watch him kiss your knuckles, you watch him look at you with love in his eyes and you watch his eyelids droop, with his tattoed arm wrapped around your waist and the sound of your heart beat resonating in his ears.

That night you fall asleep next to Taeyong, only to be woken by the obnoxious buzz of your phone, there’s a text which robs the color off of your face, ‘I know what you did.’ It says, the number anonymous. A video attached to the white box.

You press play with clammy fingers.

It’s the cabin, it’s the two of you. It’s a video. It’s your body. It's your voice. Your moans. "Taeyong."

Someone was out to ruin your life.

You sit up in horror, crying into your palm. The lift of your body had woken Taeyong. He narrows his eyes at the blue glow of your device. His gaze flits between your phone and your petrified face before he seizes the device from you.

You watch as he reddens in fury, deciding the fate of the now broken phone as he throws it against the black plaster of his walls. “I’m going to kill him.” He sneers, his teeth grinded together and nostrils flairing and

you know that, truly, this time, he might.

#taeyong smut #lee taeyong smut #lee taeyong #taeyong #nctsmut #reader x nct #nct127 #nct smut #nct #nct x reader #taeyong angst #nct angst #bad boy taeyong

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johobi · 6 years ago

Text

Breathe

Word count: 2.5k

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: None. This is about as wholesome as it gets on my blog.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359445

Next: Interval || Dig Deep Masterlist

The night before your wedding to a man you couldn’t find any more repugnant, you seek out the mercantile aid of an unscrupulous space pirate.

A coolness perfuses the soles of your unshod feet. Everything about your alien environment exudes this curious chilliness. And though it should perhaps be the foreign engineering, the meandering layout, or the noiselessness of the vessel that flummoxes you most, it is rather the temperature that beguiles you.

Iluoli reside in a state of refrigeration. The notion is equal amounts amusing and fascinating. That much is reflected - quite literally, in the ship’s many lustrous surfaces - by your confused arrangement of features. And it is while wearing this unflattering facial setting that a door before you whooshes - everything on their ship whooshes - open. Right onto the long, limber figure of who you now know to be its captain. Before vacant, Namjoon’s eyes and mouth fly wider than you would consider possible. Then again, he is an alien. “Oh!” The exclamation is pulled from him softly. As quickly as he’d breathed it, he affixes a less terror-stricken expression. “Miss ____. I apologise if I startled you—“ by the way he white-knuckles the doorway, it should be you apologizing—“I wasn’t expecting to see you on the bridge. Or anywhere,” Namjoon remarks aside, bending enough to evaluate you from the toes up. “I wasn’t expecting to see you on your feet for a few days. Dr. Jung informed me that the soreness of your genitals would render you bedbound.” An inferno builds in your cheeks. And what may as well have been vapour, for the insubstantiality that leaves your flapping mouth. “U-Uh—“ “Ah, are you not feeling yourself still?” Namjoon incorrectly diagnoses, interpreting your incoherency as malady. “Come in and take a seat. The chairs are tolerable soft here. Designed for long stints of occupation.” “Th-Thanks,” you stumble, because if it weren’t your tongue flailing uselessly it’d be your legs, quaking in embarrassment. You’ve not long been aboard their ship, but it’s taken half that amount of time to realise that the Iluoli speak openly and frankly about such matters. And for one such as you, having been raised amidst the pomp and propriety of human nobility, their unfiltered stance on sexual activity is baffling. Refreshing, but baffling. “I’m doing well, though, thank you,” you sincerely do thank him, because his concern is genuine. “Yoongi suggested I take a wander of the ship to familiarise myself.” A lie; the bitter truth being he was standoffish and unreceptive to all attempted conversation. Even after your sordid clinch! The alien had muttered some transparent excuse about work and left you lonesome in his quarters. “I didn’t know I was heading to the bridge. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” “Not at all.” Namjoon rebuffs your fears of intrusion with a wave. “I was about to retire but you’re most welcome to see it. It isn’t terribly impressive.” He thumbs blindly to the chamber behind him, and his assertion couldn’’t be any further from the truth.

Meek as a mouse, you poke a toe over the threshold until awe robs you of your self-consciousness. The room carries the same, sleek architecture that is signature of the crew’s species, but what astounds you is the height of its concave reaches. A reinforced, glass dome houses you from the void twinkling beyond, granting you an unparalleled panorama of near space. Illuminants line the chamber’s walls, enhancing its majesty; strips of gentle violet that thrum with the engine’s core, pulsing like veins. Presumably the ship is either on standby or auto-pilot, as the light seems more ambient than practical. Consoles and stations around you blink with all manner of their own, indecipherable lights. And if you listen closely, there is a pleasant, undercurrent drone resonating from the technology surrounding; a hum as harmless and soporific as a mother’s bedtime lullaby.

A lullaby, if your eyes aren’t deceiving you, that one of the crew seems to have succumbed to. Open-mouthed and throat-exposed, a young man you’ve yet to make the acquaintance of dozes to the fore of the room, at its cockpit. In the lowlight it’s difficult to examine the features of his face, but by the silhouette of his strong profile he’s extremely handsome.

Is everyone on this ship sinfully good-looking?

The slumbering boy’s hair flutters on the breath of an apnoeic snort. One so loud and sudden it punctures the peace like a gunshot. Startled, you clutch the nearest thing to you, wild-eyed and abuzz with anxiety.

The nearest thing being Namjoon.

It only registers that you’re far from home, far from kin, and far out of your depth when you clock the squidgy, cloaked appendages you’re so rudely grappling are the captain’s tentacles. You know, the thing that modesty dictates they keep covered.

And you’re practically flattening them.

Namjoon makes a peculiar noise. Something betwixt a gasp and an exhalation, all at once. You think to unhand him, but your knuckles are only operating one-way. “Oh, goodness, I’m so, so sorry!”

“That’s quite alright,” the captain attempts to reassure you, though the hiccup in pitch gives away his agitation. Before you can extricate yourself from your tangle, Namjoon’s familiarly greasy appendages are encircling your wrists and returning them to your sides. Freed, his tentacles slither swiftly behind their shroud. “I apologise if Taehyung frightened you. He sleeps in here more than he does his own bunk.”

You follow the rhythmic rise and fall of the extraterrestrial’s chest. "Why does he do that?"

What you can only intuit as a fond smile erupts across the captain's face. "He's rather vehement in his pursuit of knowledge. It's a challenge to have him even eat, sometimes."

Illustrating Namjoon's words lay piles of vintage reading materials, the kind hardbound by leather and paper. Books, they used to call them. Taehyung doesn't appear the type to shun modern technology either, though. Scattered haphazardly amidst the tomes are your more familiar holopads, glowing idly with text and casting a sunset across his untroubled features.

"He's our navigator," Namjoon answers the question next on your tongue. "You would struggle to find someone who is as space-savvy as he is." His line of sight directs you to the controlled chaos stacked around the boy. "So we accommodate his eccentricities as best we can."

Where Yoongi is brusque and unfeeling, Namjoon is patient and warm. Your focus leaves the exotic chamber to land on him. "And I thank you again for accommodating me. I know it was extremely sudden. In all honesty, I'm essentially at sea. I had no plan beyond escape. And it wasn't with you, either."

Namjoon, too, is drawn back to the conversation. Spun-gold hair sweeps over an eye when he tilts his head. "You weren't planning to ask for our aid?"

"No," your cheeks feel the burn of shame before you can comprehend why. And then you do. "I approached your crew with the very specific aim o-of--" Namjoon's arcane eyes don't waver. Thraeus, they're purple. "Well, you know what."

"Engaging in interspecies intercourse?"

Namjoon's unequivocal suggestion triggers a snort from you, an improvement on head-to-toe mortification. "Yes, well. Yes." Your knuckles twist white around your skirt. "Before I was bound to marriage, I wanted that which I was always denied in pursuing. Forgive me if you think me vulgar."

A wonky smile suggests otherwise. "We really have no notion of such a thing. It was a curious display, if anything." A thumb and index finger pull suddenly, inexplicably at your cheek and bafflement leaves your mouth hanging. "Is this the colour of human embarrassment?" Namjoon hums, consumed by intrigue. "Your temperature has changed, also. We have no such reaction to that emotion. Though, we do feel it." Pincered in his scholarly musings, you can't so much see but hear the light ripple of his tentacles behind him. "Much of our emotion and reaction revolves around our Raeli."

As you speak, your cheek finds freedom from his gentle pinching. "Raeli?"

"I hear your kind term them tentacles, but that is not their true name. Raeli are, in etymology, quite literally our gifts from God." The so-called gifts squirm enthusiastically beneath Namjoon's cloak, as though sentient and hearing. "They are a measure of strength, virility, capability. They form the basis of much of our etiquette and ceremony. Their language can easily be misinterpreted by those unknown to us and thus it is prudent to keep them covered to strangers and the outside world."

Hearing him speak of alien custom in so free a way unearths a familiar, nagging resentment for your restricted upbringing. All you'd craved in your eye-rollingly homogenous curriculum was a taste of the other. To understand the beings that co-habit your universe. What you might one day run away to...

"Oh, so it's not for modesty's sake?"

Namjoon’s features scrunch toward the centre of his face. Again, you appear to have amused him. "No. We don't clothe ourselves for the reasons you do." Fingers trace the delicate embroidery of his cloak. "Well, some of them, anyway. To maintain our temperature, as you do, yes, but we feel no shame in revealing our naked form."

You mull these unfamiliar perspectives over. The more you contemplated your species' unnerving obsession for concealing all that was natural, the easier it was to consider that humans were the abnormal ones. "That's really interesting. Refreshing," you add with speed, eager to ensure your drowsy monotone isn't interpreted as sarcasm. If that's even a concept they're familiar with. They seem an extremely literal peoples.

"What's interesting?" A soft question, caught in a yawn, originates from the far end of the bridge. Taehyung is mysterious in the star-and-low-lit room, his eyes heavy with sleep and propped open by intrigue. "What are you talking about?" He repeats huskily, quicker this time, interest eschewing his lethargy.

It takes you more than a moment to respond. Largely, in part, because it's difficult to process how this fresh-, cherubic-faced man can produce sounds so sonorous. Hearing him speak is akin to submersion in your very favourite, warm milk baths. "I--well," your nerve renders itself elusive again when faced with a touted erudite. "Namjoon was just telling me some things about your species that I didn't know. I love hearing about you."

Taehyung's bottom lip catches the light as he juts it. "Oh. Is that it? We're boring. Now, what would be interesting is if you tell me everything about your species." He's on two legs, now, stretching each and every of the limbs attached to his torso toward the sky. Naturally your eyes are drawn to his uncloaked appendages as they flex away the effects of their inertia. Teal, and long - oh, so long - when extended in this manner, they tremble at the limit of their reach, much like the tail of your beloved, coddled cat, King Cud. "Where are you from? Where do you originate? What do you eat? The flora and fauna on your planet?" Taehyung stops a mere foot away, no longer lit by space but fluorescence from the corridor. There are stars, nevertheless, in his eyes, now open wide and seeking something of fascination. His tentacles undulate restlessly in the air behind him, six hands on a timepiece that originates from his back. You haven't seen them bared so boldly since--

"It's late, Taehyung. ____ is likely tired. You can ask her these things another time." Namjoon must sense some change in your demeanour. For the life of you, though, it's not something you can pinpoint yourself. Awe, maybe. He interprets discomfort. "And sheathe yourself. You may look threatening to a human."

Your head whips to him and back. Back to the imposing beauty overlooking you. "Oh, no! Not at all. I'm not afraid. I'm just--" how best to depict yourself as something other than a brazen xenophile? "--I've never mixed with people outside my own species. Other than the servant staff, I mean." The reproval you anticipate doesn't come from either of your hosts at your divulging your appallingly pampered lifestyle. The chagrin licks hot at your cheeks anyway. "What I'm trying to say is that I hold much admiration for your species. I want to learn more of you, and others, and--everything. I've led a very sheltered life until now."

As Taehyung's hands land on his hips, so, too, do two of his tentacles, ringing his wrists in mimicry. An exuberant grin pulls his lips into a charming, rectangular show of teeth. "I have so much to tell you, Madam ____!" The title is unexpected but you receive it with a smile of your own. "You don't know anything? That's so exciting!" He turns to Namjoon, tentacles tangling in his thrill. "Captain, this is amazing! I've never met someone so unintelligent! The things I can teach her!"

If your face wasn't an inferno of mortification before, it is now. "U-Unintelligent?"

Taehyung communicates a vague, self-conscious panic at Namjoon. His index fingers come together at his front for a show of agitated poking. If that wasn't winsome enough for your forgiveness, his top two tendrils emulate the gesture over his mop of hair. "D-Did I say it wrong? I meant," his top teeth sink into his fleshy bottom lip, fixed on Namjoon. His Captain, however, looks bereft of answers. "Stupid."

Whether it's a sound or a snort that ejects itself from one of your facial orifices, you're not sure. It's muffled in nano-time, however, by the palms of both your hands slapping your airways shut.

Namjoon, ever your well-meaning - if inaccurate - interpreter, sends a sigh in Taehyung's direction. His eyebrows hover low and remonstrative. "You're distressing our guest, Taehyung. With one of your words," he tacks on, sagely, though the ambiguity is transparent.

Actually, you'd laughed. Coarsely. You hadn't belly-laughed since, well, you'd been instructed by your nannies to hide it. The belly and the laughter. And all things in between. It was plebeian and unattractive to suitors, they'd said. That propriety dictated a gentlewoman keep such uncouth behaviour stifled. Slamming a hand to your mouth had become an unfailing reflex.

"Which one?"

"S-Stupid?"

Your reverie is struck aside by Namjoon's flustered speculation. Back in reality, you find yourself engaged by two extremely bewildered Iluoli. That’s very unlike reality.

The captain, then, relaxes in understanding. "Ah, yes. Don't say the word stupid, Taehyung. It's probably offensive to humans. Perhaps the term unlearned is less harsh."

There's no keeping it in. A noise, as foreign as your surroundings and situation, ousts itself like a geyser, vibrant and untapped. Thraeus, it’s funny. Everything is so funny. You guffaw into the open air, clawing at your stomach as it tremors."S-Stupid--u-unlearned--"

Once as deep as the earth's core, Taehyung's voice shoots up, shrill. "You made it worse!"

Namjoon's is just as high. "I--I didn't know humans were so fragile!"

It's only halfway to Hoseok's office, bound gently aloft by tentacles and amidst frenzied cries of Her face is watering again! that you're able to regain a measure of your composure and reassure them that you aren't, in fact, seizing. Merely, you were laughing out your amusement. And you thank them for it.

That does nothing to clear up their confusion.

#yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi scenarios #suga #suga smut #suga scenarios #dig deep #breathe

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punkscowardschampions · 6 years ago

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Joe & Ronnie

Toe dip

Joe: I'm back in town, you about? Ronnie: Bored of playing with yourself or just playing happy families, yeah? Ronnie: Fuck off Mckenna Joe: S'not an answer, is it Ron? Ronnie: mummy dearest ain't funding my jetsetting Ronnie: there's your answer Joe: Nor mine Joe: Thank you student loans Joe: Are you coming over? Or we playing hide and seek? Ronnie: snap your fingers at me again and see what happens to 'em Ronnie: fuck off you're better at that like Joe: Not like I wanted to Joe: Needs must Joe: Which is what I'm saying, obviously I'm good for it, not like I think you missed me or anything Ronnie: bullshit. you love it golden boy Ronnie: if you didn't wanna be there you'd have been here Joe: Love it so much I moved countries to breathe Joe: Love it so much I found you Joe: It ain't that simple, I can't get out their clutches that easy Ronnie: 'cause you're a sadist. just pay for some bitch to whip you or some shit like normal pervs who love the torture Ronnie: don't come crying to me about it Joe: Ain't like that either Joe: always got by on self-inflected tah Joe: you know I need you Ronnie: liar Ronnie: you need them Ronnie: and to fuck me as a fuck you to them Ronnie: it ain't about me Joe: no Joe: i HAVE them Joe: obligation Joe: and if that were it i'd have done it once and rubbed her nose in it Joe: more than sufficient to fuck her up, no? Joe: who knows if they'd even flinch, my brother and bea are basically married and that was family endorsed Joe: i'm fucked up, that's why i want you so bad, its as simple as that, you've always known that Ronnie: like i give a shit Ronnie: you ain't found any the bastards your da's bound to have dropped Ronnie: makes me the lucky one Ronnie: keep your crying that side of the plane ride, yeah? Ronnie: I'm not here to comfort you Joe: if you like Joe: even if they existed, doesn't mean they're gonna be the same as me Joe: more carbon copies of him, like the rest of 'em Joe: i don't want you to Joe: already got that covered, remember? Ronnie: i ain't the same as you Ronnie: different species baby Ronnie: you got everything and I got fuck all, remember? Joe: yet we still both ended up here Joe: its in our DNA Joe: both her parents were junkies Joe: rest is just circumstance Ronnie: Fuck you I make my own choices Ronnie: and it's not that deep Ronnie: It feels good, I do it Ronnie: blame her all you like but don't expect me to join the party Ronnie: nothing any of you do affects me, got it? Joe: You're old enough to know better than to give such a baby junkie cliche answer Joe: giving to charity and going for a daily constitutional 'feels good' too so I hear but I don't see you out there seizing life by the balls on those scores Joe: There are reasons we chose heroin over life, wanna rewatch seeing as you're feeling really basic about it today, like Ronnie: what i know is that nothing feels like heroin does, soft lad Ronnie: end of Joe: and there's reasons you know that by experience and not hearsay Joe: everyone knows that but everyone else is too content in their happy little lives to find out properly for themselves Ronnie: nobody's that content they're just that pussy Ronnie: scared they'll lose an arm or get riddled and whatever else they've seen on their tv Joe: Whatever Joe: same sin different name Joe: i'm not in your inbox to philosophize Joe: Someone got #deep in my absence Ronnie: take it to church Ronnie: a priest'll be happy to suck you off Ronnie: if you don't like what happens when you go stop leaving Joe: ha, i'm not that young, you know? Joe: my prime is behind me Joe: want me to be the cliche now Joe: say never again? Joe: 'cos I wish it could be true but you know, no broken promises Ronnie: just a crybaby, yeah? I know Ronnie: I don't want to hear any of your bullshit Ronnie: grow a pair mckenna Joe: then stop talking Ronnie: step up and make me Ronnie: you know where i am Joe: are the others about Joe: charlie, mainly Joe: i can't be bothered to be fake to or for my fam for another second and you know he loves them Ronnie: that cunt's down the job centre he'll be longer than I can stand you Joe: just mad 'cos your six-month ban is still in effect Joe: just come over ron Joe: please Joe: i don't want to risk seeing anyone else, i only wanna see you Ronnie: you begging now? Ronnie: that's why you gotta stay away from that lot Joe: thought i'd try it this way before going straight to kidnap Joe: gotta give a lady options Ronnie: try scoring you owe me Joe: done Joe: wait 'til i'm past security don't fancy the cavity search Ronnie: don't knock it 'til you've tried it Ronnie: they might take the gear but they'll show you a good time Joe: of course you'd endorse it, already know you're all about them good feelings Joe: like i said, only got time for you Joe: hopeless romantic Ronnie: hopeless twat Ronnie: trying to make me vom again like Joe: can't blame a boy for trying Joe: get you off your A game=more junk for me Ronnie: still a selfish bellend then Joe: 'Course Joe: you'd never do the same, like Ronnie: if i had gear or money for it i wouldnt be wasting my time on you and this convo Joe: N'awwh Joe: nice to be needed Ronnie: you can try begging for it again Ronnie: worked so well before Joe: knew you loved it really Joe: pretty please with smack on top, hey Ronnie: fuck off Joe: so soon? Joe: just landed baby Ronnie: you left me for dead baby im not gonna wait there rattling a sign Joe: don't Joe: i gave you money, and told you to ask for more if you ran out Joe: what more could i do? Ronnie: not fucking choose them over me Joe: i didn't, haven't, won't Joe: no choice involved, until i literally fucking off myself i have to keep them in the loop i'm still breathing, they won't be satisfied 'til then, like Ronnie: you don't care if that I ain't. good thing the dealers a better fuck and provider than you 'cause my pain's nothing for theirs Ronnie: all such fucking momma's boys Joe: bullshit Joe: you get me every other day of the year Joe: whenever you want me Joe: it was one weekend to show i've got a heartbeat and bounce, that's all it is to me, i don't care if it makes them feel better, just secondary Joe: i'm thinking about you and how you are the whole time Joe: i can't think about nothing else Ronnie: bullshit Ronnie: you're never around Ronnie: uni and orchestra and whatever the fuck else Ronnie: stop acting like you give a shit Joe: gotta get money somehow and music keeps me as sane as i've ever been, it's all i had before i had you so I'm not just going to drop it, 'cos you get that too Joe: you just want to be proved right but you're not Joe: you can't push me away and shut me out Joe: sorry about it Ronnie: you're the one who's wrong about everything Ronnie: trying to make this something this ain't Ronnie: a fucking love story or some shit Ronnie: I hate you and I'm not sorry about it Joe: understandable Joe: not the only one Joe: you rather it was a sob story? Joe: don't think so Ronnie: I don't want any story I just want you to get the fucking picture Joe: i'm not very visual, sorry Joe: pick up a guitar Ronnie: You'd love that. a love song. get fucked Joe: looks like you're stuck then Joe: you think you'd try harder if you hated me THAT much Joe: hmm Ronnie: you're the try hard that ain't me Joe: glad you think so Joe: it takes all of me to be this subpar Ronnie: Shut up and get to your place I need my hit Joe: in the taxi Joe: pray you've been good enough to warrant no traffic Ronnie: you sound like your catholic dad Ronnie: is that meant to turn me on? Joe: rather it didn't frankly Joe: but that'd just give you reason to say it did so Joe: you do you Ronnie: sick fuck Joe: no arguments here Ronnie: I'm gonna kick the door in if you're not here in 5 Ronnie: your neighbours are nosey cunts Joe: did you lose your key again? Joe: they're mostly students...so they're either green and wouldn't say boo to a goose let alone you, or stoned enough themselves not to care Ronnie: fuck's sake Joe: kick the door down if you wanna, love keeping the locksmiths in business, you Joe: lost that deposit months ago anyway Ronnie: moneybags mckenna Ronnie: should've done uni like Joe: not to late, job centre will pay for it Joe: good on their books, good on your wallet Ronnie: fuck off Ronnie: can't get a degree in dope Joe: nah, but you can get a degree in almost everything else Joe: music, whatever Ronnie: prodigy privilege Joe: you don't have to be 'good' Joe: you are anyway Joe: just a thought Joe: not working on commission here Ronnie: I know like 3 chords you daft cunt Ronnie: flattery is fucking useless Joe: they teach you most of it, half my class couldn't play a triangle, you could do theory or producing anyway or set design...list goes on Joe: i'm not aiming for flattery, just how i feel Ronnie: there's easier ways to fulfil your schoolgirl fantasy Ronnie: keep your feelings to yourself Joe: sure, you offering? Ronnie: yeah if you beg me Joe: won't even stop to say hello dearest Ronnie: fuck it then why not Joe: hooray Joe: missed you Ronnie: prove it Joe: on it

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